City Lights, Pitch Dark Nights
by Lastminutegenius
Summary: Bering and Wells AU. Based on the prompt "It's only under the city lights that the night sky seems pitch black". Helena and Myka, tumultuous as usual. The one-shot has grown. Helena and Myka's masks are slowly falling away.
1. Chapter 1

**And it seems like I'm back. There's gonna be a long AN, brace yourselves.**

**My Calzona Muse has abandoned me. Hence the incomplete fics, I don't know if I'll ever get around to it at all.**

**I changed my PenName, simply to go with Tumblr Username. Still the same person though :)**

**A Big Thank You to DistractedMoose for not only the prompt that resulted in this but also for being a Super-Awesome Beta-Reader. She took my word vomit and turned it into something beautiful. Thank You :)**

**And to Tantedrago, as always, for getting me started on writing again. And for dealing with my crazy mood swings and crazier demands and being a sweetheart about it all.**

* * *

As soon as Helena's car rounds the corner she spots her. She stands under the lamppost outside Chung's, twirling her hair and flipping off a passing car. Helena frowns trying to read the number plate of the now speeding away blue sedan – it's already too far away and the street lights are much too dim anyway. She sits up straighter in her seat as she comes to a stop beside the woman in the little black dress and impossibly high heels.

A face framed by a mass of black curls appears at the passenger side window but Helena's head is turned away, surveying the area repeatedly to assure herself that she has not been followed.

Helena's peremptory, "Get in" cuts off whatever witty one-liner the woman had opened her mouth to say. She mumbles her protests under her breath but obliges nonetheless and Helena pulls away from the curb. It's only at the next traffic light that Helena turns her head to look at the woman beside her. Her eyes trail along the length of exposed thigh and she's almost tempted to lean over and touch her. Instead, she keeps her fingers tightly curled around the steering wheel.

"What is that building?" the woman's voice jolts Helena out of her musings and she finally lifts her eyes to meet curious, wakeful green ones.

Helena cranes her neck to look out of the window. "The Capitol," she answers looking back at the woman, "It's a hotel," she continues when the puzzled expression doesn't fade. And then she does lean over, her thumb wiping away a smudge of dark red lipstick on her companion's face before she's even aware of her actions. She hastily withdraws her hand. The young woman smirks and angles her body towards Helena even as the latter slams down hard on the gas pedal, accelerating the car forward with a jerk.

"You want to get started in the car?" she asks with a smirk and Helena's heart misses a beat at the equal parts of seductiveness and innocence ringing in those words.

Helena swallows thickly and shakes her head, "We're almost there."

Their hotel is decidedly not The Capitol – not even its distant cousin. But at the same time it's definitely not some dingy hotel in the shady part of town where rooms are only available by the hour. No, Helena respects the woman too much for that; she books a suite with a single large bed. The receptionist however, shows no such class and Helena can't help but express her thinly veiled annoyance and disdain at the way he so blatantly checks out her companion. Of course the woman is gorgeous, but the way he's looking at her can only be described as lecherous and Helena feels more than irritated by it. She snatches the key out of his sweaty hand, picks up her travel bag and takes the woman's hand in her own as she leads the way to their room.

She giggles and teases, accusing her of being a jealous lover before abruptly changing the topic of discussion to the cheap paintings hung on the walls. Helena contemplates, not for the first time, what this woman's life would have been like if the circumstances had been different – if she had had a proper education. Helena knows the young woman is bright and an extremely fast learner, otherwise she wouldn't have picked her. A fond, bittersweet half-smile graces Helena's face at the young woman's frivolous attempts to explain the complete lack of correlation between the actual night sky and the artist's interpretation of it. Helena shakes her head, conceding to the woman's superior knowledge of astronomy but also pushing away the melancholy thoughts that rush in with that acknowledgment.

Helena fumbles with the key, warm fingers wrap around hers to relieve her of the task. Her companion stoops over the lock, curls falling forward to hide her face while Helena leans against the wall, studying their profiles in the flickering lights of the hallway. Maybe in another lifetime, if things had gone well for this girl, Helena would never have met her. The thought saddens her.

"There," she opens the door with a flourish and the smile that graces Helena's lips is the most genuine one she's had all week. She steps inside and begins the awkward routine of divesting herself of her coat and shoes, all the time avoiding the gaze of the waiting woman on the bed.

"Are you hungry?" she asks, like she always does.

"Not yet," is the mirth-filled answer, "but maybe you can help me work up an appetite."

The words are almost crass and they fall jarringly on Helena's ears. She turns nonetheless and stares at the resplendently unconcealed beauty that is sprawled across the bed, waiting for her. She's tempted to take what is being so freely offered, but first she must steel herself with alcohol.

"So a drink then," Helena offers as she takes out a bottle of matured scotch from her bag and settles down on the edge of the bed. She takes a long draught straight from the bottle before offering it to the other woman. The woman declines, instead choosing to crawl towards her. There's a mischievous smile on her face that makes Helena's hands tremble. She pushes Helena against the headboard, straddling her. She removes the whisky from Helena's hand, placing it on the night-stand, leaving Helena's hands empty and craven for touch. So Helena grasps the woman's hips and pulls her a closer, searching for something, _anything_ to ground herself. The young woman doesn't kiss her, not yet; cradling Helena's face in her palms as she waits for her to meet her eyes. She will let Helena make the first move – like she always does.

"Forget it. Forget everything." she says and it's only then that Helena kisses her. It's sloppy, it's rough but the woman accepts it all. She forgets everything except the scent of this woman, the feel of her calloused hands kneading her, soothing her pains. The sordid images conjured by overactive imaginations and a long life of terrible experiences tear away at the fragile cocoon of their carefully constructed contentment. Helena pushes these thoughts away as she brands the other woman's skin, leaving possessive red marks in her wake. They push, they pull, but they never break away, for this is a familiar dance and her partner knows all the motions. It scares her how easily she reveals herself. "Don't think so much," comes a whisper against her ear as sweat-stained foreheads rest momentarily against each other. She digs her fingers into soft flesh in reply and is rewarded by instant aching pleasure.

She rises higher and higher till all of it comes crashing down and Helena cries out, "Mykaaa." She falls limply into Myka's arms, held close to the warm body as she recovers.

It's only later, as the better part of the night comes to a close that they finally engage in the matters that brought them together in the first place. Helena, dressed with the exception of her coat, sits at the foot of the bed enjoying the view of Myka lazily sprawled amongst the sheets. The young woman leans over for a kiss but Helena pulls away. It's not a luxury she can afford herself. Myka huffs as she gets off the bed and, gloriously naked, bends to retrieve something from the floor. Helena is bemused when Myka returns with her one black heel in hand. She sits down next to Helena and offers it to her. Brows furrowed, she accepts it warily.

"Lift the sole," Myka whispers to her, slipping one hand between Helena's trouser-clad thighs. Helena complies and she snorts with laughter when she discovers the secret compartment. She pulls out a microchip and holds it to the light. _Damn clichés!_

"Is this all?" she asks, her voice is all business. Myka nods, looking more like a child with every passing second. "And he still suspects nothing?" Helena probes.

"He's always busy and so secretive too," Myka shrugs her shoulders. "He has no time for me or even his wife."

"So how did you get this?" Helena asks further, she's been trained to question the unusual. It's part of her self-discipline. It's what makes her so good at what she does.

"I have my ways," Myka smiles impishly at her and Helena inadvertently lets out a moan as Myka's nails draw inane patterns along her inner thighs. She is quick to grasp Myka's wrist so to still her movements, but it is not enough to stop the wanton desire from appearing on her face. Myka's face reflects her confusion and she settles back down. Helena turns to her and claims the now lipstick-less, kiss-chapped lips in a surge, their tongues battling for dominance. She presses Myka close against her body and steals her breath away quite literally till Myka is gently but urgently pushing her away. She appears flushed and panting heavily, the expression drawing a prideful chuckle from Helena.

"When, next?" is the question that wipes the smirk off Helena's face_. Oh, the poor idiot!_ Helena doesn't answer right away but stands up and moves slowly across the room. She picks up her bag, repacks the nearly empty bottle of scotch, slips on her shoes, and checks the time on her watch again.

"I'll inform you. Just…" the words get caught in her throat. She cannot bring herself to look at Myka now, smiling, happy, sated, _safe_. "Just stay safe till then," she utters finally before making eye contact.

Five heartbeats later, exactly five because Helena has counted, she turns away. She flings her coat over her shoulder, unlocks the door and leaves.

"The money is in the top drawer," are her final words as she closes the door behind her.

Helena's steps are quick, hurried; they do not betray how exhausted the last few hours have made her. She slows down only when her feet hit the hard stone walkway. She pauses to light a cigarette. Helena watches the puff of smoke as it rises in ugly ringlets and refracts the street lights. She plays with a button on her coat as she leans against her car hood and draws a last few inhales of nicotine from the rapidly dwindling snub. Looking up at the sky, she sees it's a moonless night. She glances at her watch, in a few hours the sun will be up. That will erase out the inky darkness, or so Helena hopes as she slips into her car, revs the engine and drives away.

Myka watches her activity from the window, curtains slightly parted, taking note of every minute detail in Helena's actions. She notes too, how dark the sky is tonight. When the car finally leaves she lets the curtains fall limp. She rushes back to the bed and scrambles over the tussled sheets in search of her black dress. Running her hand along the seams, finding the right spot, she rips the cloth away to retrieve a small comm device. Inserting the small piece into her ear and holding the tiny button-sized microphone close to her mouth, she states calmly "The package is in play. I repeat. The package is in play."

After a brief pause the device crackles alive and a female voice replies, "Great work Mykes. The tracker is active. Steve is being sent her location now. And Pete will be there to pick you up early morning."

"With my clothes," Myka adds as she lay down her head on the pillow. She hears the young girl chuckle before killing the line. Myka sighs and buries her face in the pillow.

It probably isn't the best thing to do. It smells of Helena. So Myka rises from the bed, wrapping the bed sheet around her and settles down on the window ledge. Pressing her face against the window pane she begins the difficult task of counting the stars that are strewn across the pitch dark sky.

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**That's it. It stays a one-shot for now :)  
Thank you for Reading, Reviews would be lovely and encouraging.**

**Loads of Love- G3 :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, okay. Since the one-shot left everyone baffled and people wanted things to be explained, here's chapter 2. Sorry, not everything gets explained here...but roll with it yeah? :)  
Thank you to Distractedmoose for the Beta. Please pray for her soul, she has to deal with my word vomit ;)**

* * *

Resistance is futile; Helena realizes and sinks to her knees. There are too many of them; including, she's willing to bet, a handful of snipers peering down at her through their scopes. She raises her hands up in the air and winces slightly as the gravel cuts into her still healing right knee. She brings her hand down to shield her eyes against the glaring headlights but a hoarse cry warns her to keep her hands behind her head and she does as she is told.

A sharp jab from the butt of a gun almost makes her lose her balance, but immediately deft hands are there picking her up by the shoulder and roughly pulling her to her feet. Her trench coat is pulled off of her and she stands there exposed to the cold night air.

"Easy," she hears a male voice bark through the cacophony of triumphantly excited law enforcement officials and a distant horn of a streamliner.

Handcuffs in place, the uniform in front of her conducts an uncomfortably thorough search to divest her of her weapons. Her jaw quivers lightly and cuffed hands close into a tight fist. Before she can act, the offender is pulled away by his collar, replaced by a lanky man with close-cropped hair and a crinkle around his pale blue eyes.

"Ms Wells," he says, not quite as a greeting but more a forceful assertion of facts, primarily for his benefit, "It would be wise and in your best interests to co-operate," he continues as he turns her around to check if the cuffs will hold. "Any more weapons to declare?"

She likes this young man. He's direct, and yet he remembers that she is still a human being as he takes her upper arm and guides her to his waiting car.

"My boots," she says softly.

He stops to bend down.

"The other one," she guides him.

He pulls out a Swiss army knife and tosses it to a nearby officer. He looks back at her and she simply nods her head.

"I don't need much."

A wry smile appears on his face before he opens the door for her. "Let's get you somewhere warm," he finishes, shutting the door.

* * *

Steven Jinks isn't impressed by very much. For one, he's pretty good at what he does. And two, he works with some of the smartest people in the world, and only sometimes does their above average intelligence pique him. He's seen people with twisted morals and more twisted brains, and even their baffling logic fails to impress him at the best of times.

But watching Helena Wells through the one-way mirror, Steve is impressed by how composed the woman appears. It's not a show, he can tell. There's no fidgeting, no roaming eyes, not even a blatant stare at her captors and interrogators. No, Helena Wells is calmly sitting back in her chair, legs crossed, and hands neatly upon her knees; her eyes have been focused on a single spot on the table for the past hour that they have kept her in confinement and since they've removed her blindfold.

He's slightly startled when a heavy hand lands on his shoulder.

"Great work out there Jinksy," Pete's grinning at him.

"You too," he compliments back easily, it's a part of the workplace banter. "It was after all on your instincts that we decided to leave the airport and hit the bay area instead."

"Don't call them instincts, man!" Pete's boyish face lights up with a smile, puffing his chest out, placing his hands on his hips. "It's my superpower!"

Steve nods his head sagely.

"Pete-Man," Pete announces in a dramatic voice, "Pete-Man with his vibes!"

Steve snorts with laughter.

"Now Jinksy boy, let's go get ourselves some answers," Pete says, still in his stage voice. He hands Steve a folder. "And then…" Pete continues as he walks to the door, "It's time to par-tay! Choose your ice-cream flavours now."

Steve has a sneaking suspicion that it won't be that easy, but he says nothing as he follows Pete into the interrogation room.

* * *

Peter Lattimer is frustrated, and that is saying a lot. His upbeat persona is perhaps rivalled only by Santa himself. Not to mention that it's a rare temperament for someone in his profession.

Two hours in, and Pete is past exasperated and teetering dangerously on the edge of murderous. Not so much with the lack of answers, but with the general disposition of woman herself. She hardly seems to acknowledge their presence in the room and Pete has started huffing through his sweat drenched shirt. He presses a button for the AC and lowers the temperature of the room further. From the corner of his eye he sees Wells shifting in her seat as an almost invisible shiver runs up her spine. The poker face has not fallen completely, but Pete derives a small pleasure from noting that she's uncomfortable. He glances at Steve, who is at ease in his chair, quietly observing their suspect.

"We can do this all day," Pete says, sitting down and leaning forward to the point of invasion, a classic act of intimidation.

Helena looks at him and speaks for the first time since they've brought her in. "Or you could just let me talk to Myka, it will save us all time and energy, and undoubtedly my peace of mind from having to converse with you."

Pete hates the cool confidence in the woman's voice and is almost ready to give her a piece of his mind, but Steve interrupts, pushing back from the table and standing up, already heading towards the door.

* * *

"How did she know I was involved?" Myka asks indignantly, arms crossed, on the defensive.

Claudia answers, "Ahh, maybe because she's only the smartest rogue agent we've ever caught."

"Smart? That didn't stop her from being caught. Besides, the Kosans have no idea who I was. They still think their dear Nanny got deported out of the country"

"We spent a year working our asses off to get a whiff of this woman . And that's not even counting all the years that other agencies have spent searching for her before we got involved." Claudia cannot hide the awe that seeps into voice.

"You're telling me?" Myka asks, arching one eyebrow in an elegant arc, "I had to play a hooker. A hooker! To reel her in. And oh, I only had to sleep with her." The vein along Myka's throat throbs violently and Claudia holds up her hands in surrender. Myka sighs and slouches against the wiz-kid's desk.

The brief moment, filled only with the staccato beats of Claudia's fingers striking the keyboard, is broken when the wiz-kid looks up at Myka and grins, "So you're telling me that you didn't find her even slightly attractive then."

Myka hits her shoulder lightly. However, before she can retort her boss walks in, followed by Pete and Steve. Pete's annoyance is written clearly across his face and Steve just looks tired.

"Why are you still standing here?" Arthur Nielson's eyebrows are more furrowed than usual. "Get in there and get me answers."

"Maybe we could let Dr. Cho have a go at her?" Myka asks hopefully.

"We already know she's damaged goods." Artie answers, ruffling through the sheaf of papers at Claudia's work station.

Myka winces.

"All I want is her intel on Valda," Artie says, turning to look at her, "Any more questions?"

Myka shrugs, feigning nonchalance.

Steve looks at her sympathetically. "Don't let her get under your skin".

Pete too squeezes her shoulder gently before letting her go with a smile. "We'll be right here if things spin out of control."

Myka takes a deep breath and picks up the manila folder from the desk behind her. Slipping on her coat, Myka wonders briefly if her problem is with facing Helena or facing her with the rest of the team listening in.

* * *

The third time the door opens; Helena looks up to see Myka enter. She beholds Myka as what is in fact her true self – no dark red lipstick, unruly curls tied back into a strict ponytail, very little make-up and her outfit a far cry from the little black dress she last saw her in, just a fleeting week back. She strides purposefully into the room and sits down opposite to her, opening her folder and clicking her pen.

"Ms Wells are you aware of the location of Benedict Valda's landing site for tonight?" Myka dives straight into business, barely glancing at Helena.

"You gave me your real name." Those are Helena's first words to her.

If Myka is surprised by the question, she doesn't let it show. She answers easily, "It wasn't a routine undercover job. It's difficult to remember aliases… when…"

"In the throes of passion?" Helena supplies, her face betraying no emotion.

Myka almost blushes before subtly clearing her throat and continuing to speak. "So you knew of Valda's plans?"

"I deduced his plans," Helena interjected sharply. "What did you do with the money?"

The question is clearly meant to upset Myka but she shrugs it off. "From the information we passed onto you?" Myka is determined to not give Helena satisfaction of a response.

"Most of the information you fed me was useless, but you already know that." Helena brings her body forward, resting her elbows on the table.

Myka's eyes fall briefly to the cuffs before meeting Helena's darkening pupils.

"Are you getting ideas, darling?" Helena asks with a throaty laughter. "If only you had prolonged our rendezvous, I would have given you the pleasure of tying me up. This is a much too elaborate a measure for seeing me in handcuffs."

"So you have other sources? And you'll give us a list of their names," Myka continues without skipping a beat.

"I'll do no such thing."

Helena's cold tone stills Myka's hand and she taps lightly against the blank sheet of paper.

"You have nothing to offer me in exchange," Helena continues. "You need me to get to Valda. I don't need you."

By 'you' Helena means The Company, but for a brief second the words cut through Myka and her head jerks up. An involuntary, "Helena," escapes her lips.

For the first time she sees anger reflected on Helena's face, but the moment passes and Helena slumps back into her chair. "I should have known better," she looks away from Myka.

Myka is tempted to cross to the other side, literally and figuratively. But her sense of duty prevents her. "Helena… I… It was a job. I had a job to do." Myka has no idea why she's explaining herself or even what she's explaining. She doesn't care that there are others listening in, and that Artie would probably blow a gasket and Pete's incessant questioning would never end.

"Tell Irene she's playing it wrong," Helena's professional tone cuts off her ramble. "She doesn't know how to suck up to those fools in parliament" Helena waits for Myka to indicate her understanding. "Go through the information you collected from Kosan's house again, he knows how to contact Valda."

Myka realizes suddenly that the tables have turned but is given no time to ponder how.

Helena is talking urgently now, giving her instructions, "Tell Irene Frederic to meet me. Tell her I will not waste her time. Get Arthur to track the name "Diamond". Cross check it with potential appearances on Kosan's accounts. I don't know what you did with the material you collected from his house… but that's fine, I'll talk to Irene." With that Helena resumes her silent stand and stares at Myka for a lengthy second before shaking her head lightly.

"Are you going sit here all day?" she asks, a slight smile playing on her lips.

Myka hurriedly rises, collecting the papers and folders and clutching them tightly to her chest. The woman in front of her had just called Irene Frederic by her full name, Myka's rational mind tells her she should just do as she's asked. She nods her head and turns to leave.

"And Myka," Helena's voice gives her pause. "Ask Arthur to set up proper sleeping arrangements. I'll have Agents Jinks guarding me. Unless you want to make yourself available that is."

There was no humour in Helena's tone and Myka gulps visibly. "Anything else?" asks Myka from the doorway, keeping any flippant remarks in check. Who did this woman think she was?

Helena seems to ponder the question and Myka almost closes the door, tired of the woman's antics, when Helena opens her mouth, "I'll take my Earl Grey now".

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**And that's it folks! Thank you for reading. I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. maybe even get ideas where I want to take this.**

**Love- G3 :)**


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